


Made For TV Movie

by Drazyrohk



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Misuse of power, Public Humiliation, Tropes, body switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drazyrohk/pseuds/Drazyrohk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brainstorm and Perceptor have a scientific mishap. It seems every time they try to fix the problem, they only make it worse... </p>
<p>After alternate universes, time travel, portals to another dimension, finding the Necrobot and being chased by a planet, the fact that people keep randomly switching frames seems like just another in a long list of Lost Light misadventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made For TV Movie

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally finished! This piece is something no one asked for but it's certainly been a joy to write and a labor of love. I hope you guys enjoy it!

As far as explosions went, this one had been fairly minor. It was difficult to pin down whose fault the accident was, as two pairs of hands and two remarkable processors had been involved.

Despite the small scale of the blast, Perceptor found himself on the opposite side of the room from where he was supposed to be. His targeting patch was missing, most likely displaced by whatever it was that had fallen across his face. 

“Well, that was certainly something.” Perceptor heard Brainstorm say, and his audio receptors must have also been fragged because the other scientist sounded… off. “You okay, Percy?” 

“It’s Perceptor.” He corrected automatically, sitting up and shoving a broken table, a small shower of shattered glassware and what appeared to be some sort of mangled weapon off his lap. Perceptor froze and slowly held his hand up in front of his face…

It wasn’t his hand. It wasn’t his hand at all. 

“You have GOT to be kidding me. This thing weighs a ton.” Brainstorm complained from across the room. “How do you even _work_ with this thing attached to you? I keep seeing it out of the corner of my optic!” 

Brainstorm was, of course, far too calm about this. Perceptor took in a slow breath and touched the strange hand before him to the obstruction on the lower half of his face. “This isn’t happening.” He said weakly. “What have you done to me?”

“Hey, I’m as confused as you are!” Brainstorm got to his feet and moved to where Perceptor could see him… 

It was very disconcerting to be sitting on the floor, gazing up at himself. His own face was peering down at him and wearing an excited smile that made his optics bright and showed off all his denta. 

“But as far as failures go, this one’s pretty neat.” Brainstorm said, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. “Body switching, huh. I didn’t think that was a _thing_.”

Perceptor slowly reached out and grasped the offered hand, letting himself be hauled out of the rubble and onto his pedes again. He wobbled a little in place, disoriented by the sheer amount of extensions coming off the frame he was now wearing. 

“We have to fix this.” Perceptor said firmly. “And will you STOP TOUCHING THAT?!” 

Brainstorm grinned impishly at him, and Perceptor was fairly sure he had never seen his own face wearing that expression before. “It’s sensitive.” He said, hand poised over the lense of the scope on his shoulder.

“Extremely! And you’re going to put smudges on it!” Perceptor reached to stop Brainstorm from continuing to fondle the delicate equipment. The wings on his back kept shifting around and were throwing off his balance, so he ended up practically tackling the other mech to the floor again. 

Even worse than the impish grin was the rather awed look that Perceptor’s face was wearing now. Was that really what he looked like? Or was that expression of wonder something that was just Brainstorm’s doing? 

Trying to push himself back up, Perceptor grit his denta and began clawing at his face. “I’ve got to get rid of this awful thing! I feel like I’m being smothered!” 

“Hold on, stop that, you’ll damage it!” Brainstorm cried, taking his hands and holding them still. “There’s a trick to it!” 

Brainstorm deftly removed the mask, placing it in Perceptor’s hands and giving him a reassuring smile. Perceptor nodded stiffly, realized he was still seated in the lap of his own frame and hastily leapt to his feet. 

The wings on his back shifted again and he toppled, grabbing hold of a nearby table to steady himself. 

“Slowly, then.” He said to himself. Brainstorm got up, glancing at the scope on his shoulder again. He began turning in circles, trying to get a good look at it, and Perceptor watched him with growing horror. “Oh dear. This is a disaster.” 

It took them the better part of an hour to put together the components to recreate the experiment. Perceptor found it easier to stand in one spot and have Brainstorm do the running around. He was convinced he would never get used to the wings, and determined that he would never have to.

“Come stand over here.” Brainstorm took his shoulders and moved him to the opposite side of the device. “That’s where I was standing. I’ll go over here.” 

Ex-venting slowly, Perceptor looked at the device with scrutiny. “So last time, we had these wires here.” He said, taking up one of said wires. 

“And I thought they ought to go here instead, to reroute the power.” Brainstorm picked up a different wire and began to move it. 

“And I said ‘no DO NOT PUT THE WIRE THERE!’ Which is a decision I still stand behind as being the correct one!’” Perceptor said, while for the second time that day he moved too slowly to stop Brainstorm from connecting the wire. 

There was a sharp, mechanical whine, and the second device exploded with the same force the first had.

 

One moment, Rodimus had been lying on his berth. Now he was underneath it. This didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him considering he didn’t think he could actually even _fit_ under his berth. 

Regardless, he was now on the floor, peering out at the room beyond. Obviously, the most logical explanation was that he had become intangible and had fallen through to the floor below. Seeing as stranger things had happened on the _Lost Light_ , he didn’t question his processor’s attempt at sound reasoning. 

That is, until his own face peered over the edge of the berth at him, blue optics wide in bewilderment. 

Rodimus let out a sound of surprise and pushed away from himself, only to realize there was something under there with him. Panic drove him to bolt straight past his reflection, who was still peering at him but now seemed both elated and amused. 

He tripped over his own feet and tumbled across the floor, crashing into his bookshelf and sending things cascading down on top of him. Wait… the book case was abnormally tall, wasn’t it and _oh Primus, the thing from under the bed was still chasing him!_

“Ah!! Leave me alone! Get away from me!” He cried as his feet scrabbled for purchase. 

He couldn’t outrun it, whatever it was! Rodimus dimly registered that he was on all fours, but he couldn’t seem to convince his legs to gather beneath him so he could right himself. 

“Oh, this is too good.” His own voice said, and Rodimus stared over at himself accusingly, forgetting momentarily about his pursuer. 

He watched his frame hop up, wobbling slightly before seeming to find its feet. It approached him, crouching down in front of him with a smile. It reached out a hand and tugged something that appeared to be attached to his back strut, drawing it forward where he could see it. 

“Better be careful… Otherwise it might get you.” His own voice told him and the smile just grew wider and more wicked. 

A tail. It was a tail. It was a long, spiky black tail! Ravage’s tail! Wait...Ravage’s tail? 

“No no no no no, this isn’t happening.” Rodimus moaned as everything began to click into place. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.” 

“I would, but that would be lying. And I can’t lie to my co-captain, now can I?” Rodimus watched his body stand up again, and he pushed himself to his rather shaky feet. All four of them. “Though, I guess you’re not the co-captain anymore.” His frame, presumably with Ravage inside it for some terrible reason, chuckled. “I’m the co-captain now.”

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening.” Rodimus growled. “Regardless of whatever it was that’s going on here, I’m still the captain on this ship and I’m not gonna just stand by and let you-” 

Ravage rolled his optics and turned toward the door before Rodimus could finish speaking. 

“Hey! Where are you going?!” He wobbled after the mech, tail swinging in circles as he became unbalanced and tried to overcompensate. “How the frag did you get the hang of walking so quickly?” 

“I’m used to adapting swiftly to my surroundings.” Ravage said with a shrug of his stolen shoulders. “I’ll give you some time to adjust, but I can’t stay. I believe I’m needed on the command deck. What with me being the captain and all.” 

“Ravage. Ravage, no, don’t go out there. Magnus will know! He’ll know!” Rodimus pleaded, but then Ravage was flashing him another grin and slipping out of the room. The locks engaged. “Hey, you can’t leave me here! Let me out!” 

 

It hadn’t worked. Once Brainstorm had finished laughing hysterically in the wreckage of their second spectacular failure, he and Perceptor took stock and discovered they were missing several key components for another attempt.

“Obviously, we can’t leave. We’re going to have to get someone to bring us more supplies. Someone who isn’t going to ask questions.” Perceptor snapped. He had volunteered to sweep up debris, the broom providing him much needed support as he staggered about the room. 

“Got it.” Brainstorm said, almost skipping to the comm on the wall and activating it. 

“Who are you calling?” Perceptor said, tensing. A familiar face filled the screen as the call was answered, and he relaxed just a little. Nautica. The Camien was brilliant, albeit in her own cheerful and sometimes distracted way, but they could probably trust her not to figure out what was going on so long as they kept her on topic. 

“Nautica. I need a favor.” Brainstorm said amiably, in some forced accent. Perceptor stared at him in horror. Perceptor didn’t sound like that, did he?! “I have a list of materials I require for a project I’m working on. Would you be a dear and retrieve them for me?”

“A project?” Nautica asked in excitement. “Can I come see it?” 

“N-no!” Brainstorm held up a hand. He was smiling uncomfortably. “It’s a _top secret project_. Need to know only.” 

“Oh. But what if I need to know?” Nautica’s optics widened.

“Then… I will tell you! If the situation arises that you do need to know, of course.” Brainstorm said with a nervous giggle.

Perceptor groaned softly and put his hand to his faceplates. 

“Okay buster, what’s going on?” Nautica said, folding her arms and raising her eyebrow. “You’re acting awfully strange.” 

“It’s a surprise.” Brainstorm ventured, causing the Camien’s optics to brighten in interest. “But I trust you enough to recognize the things on this list and bring them to the lab undamaged.” 

“I can do that.” Lowering her arms, Nautica smiled again. “Just give me the list and I’ll gather things up.”

“Great! Just leave the materials outside the lab door. We’re uh, feeling a little under the weather in here today.” Brainstorm drummed his fingers on the console, and he was doing the shifty optic thing that made Perceptor wonder how in the Pit the jet had ever hidden anything from anyone. 

“Oh no, should I get Lotty?” Nautica asked in concern.

“No need! We have everything under control here, just don’t want to spread it around if we’re contagious, that’s all.” Brainstorm flailed his arms around. Perceptor wanted to sink into the floor. The other scientist was making him look like an idiot. 

“Alright. I’ll try to be quick.” Nautica said as Brainstorm forwarded her the list. Once the comm was off, Perceptor watched as Brainstorm turned towards him to give him a thumbs up. 

“Idiot.” Perceptor said, shaking his head.

 

Having no thumbs and being unable to stand on two legs made opening doors impossible. Rodimus could have sworn it was hours since his body left, possessed by Ravage and doing who knew what on the command deck. 

And Rodimus couldn’t get hold of Ultra Magnus because he couldn’t figure out how to unblock the internal comm in the frame he was stuck in. There was only one frequency he could reach and he wasn’t even going to use it unless he absolutely had to. 

Megatron did _not_ need to know about this.

Rodimus pawed at the door desperately. His sharp claws were doing a number on it, but even they wouldn’t be able to get through in any sort of timely manner. 

“Let me out let me out let me oooout!!” He shouted. Of course no one would be able to hear him because he had made sure his hab suite was good and sound proofed. Having an Ultra Magnus-proof complaining room and a quiet sleep were not seeming worth it at the moment. 

He gave up and began pacing, feeling completely helpless. He had tried getting the comm on the wall to work, but the claws were even more useless at codes than at hitting the door release. 

Eventually, Rodimus found himself slumping in exhaustion on his berth, staring in a mournful way at the door. 

He was startled awake by a vocalizer resetting above him, briefly feeling embarrassed about letting himself fall asleep. Rodimus looked around, eventually spotting two points of light through the grate for the ventilation system on the ceiling. 

The realization that his hab suite wasn’t quite as sound proof as he would like it to be was just humiliating icing on an uncomfortable cake. Rodimus was sure Skids probably felt the same way since the mech had been in here on more than one occasion and making noises that he probably didn’t want anyone else hearing. 

“Ravage?” Skids’ voice called through the grate. “What’s going on? We heard shouting.” 

“Skids!” Hopping off the bed, Rodimus sprawled awkwardly on the floor for a moment. “I need you to come down here and let me out! Ravage stole my body! He’s in the command center right now!” 

Glowing optics blinked at him from the vent, and Rodimus swore he could see the mech’s mouth wobble. If Skids started laughing at him, Rodimus would find some way to have him arrested. This wasn’t funny. This was _awful_.

“Sure, sure.” Skids said. “Hang on.” He began working on getting the grate open.

Rodimus paced. Well, Rodimus tried to pace, though it was more like lurching. Eventually the grate clattered to the floor and Skids dropped down. Picking up the grate and fitting it back in the open spot above, the Outlier crouched down to peer at him more closely. 

Rodimus flicked his tail and his audio receptors in nervous agitation. “You have to believe me.” He said, tone pleading. “I wouldn’t make this sort of thing up.” 

“And stranger things have certainly happened on this ship. If my memory can be trusted, which it mostly can’t be, there was time travel once? A duplicate and very dead captain?” Skids was smirking at him. 

“Seriously, I just need you to open the door and I can go and tell Magnus about this before it turns out just like all those other situations.” Rodimus reached out and put a paw on Skids’ knee. 

Yes, the mech’s mouth was definitely wobbling and he made an amused, strangled noise as he reached out to pat the top of Rodimus’ head. 

“Hey, Skids?” Rodimus said, “See these big ass denta in my mouth? I may not be able to walk, but I’m pretty sure I know how to bite you and make it count.” 

“Point taken.” Skids got up, moving to the door panel. “What’s the code?” 

“51579.” Rodimus stood at his leg and waited anxiously for the locks to disengage. The doors to his hab suite and office were designed to lock automatically behind him when he left the room. Ultra Magnus insisted it was for his safety.

“Done and done.” Skids said as the door slid open. He watched as Rodimus wobbled his way out into the hall, following on his heels with an air of amusement. “What’s the plan now?”

“Ravage has my body and is pretending to me. Magnus’ struts go to goo when I actually give him orders, so no doubt he’ll be a limp noodle doing whatever that damn Decepticon says.” Rodimus said. It was getting easier to move; apparently all he had needed was some proper momentum. 

“Meaning we probably shouldn’t storm the command deck.” Skids said, trotting after him. 

“No. We’ll wait in his office. You’ll have to comm him and tell him to meet you here.” Stopping in front of said office door, sat down and waited for Skids to open it. “He changes the code all the time, but yesterday it was 74298.”

He could hear the buzz of Skids’ comm activating, but the mech didn’t move from his spot behind Rodimus. Looking back, the captain flattened his audio receptors again. 

Skids was laughing. He had his hand over his mouth and was looking endearingly at Rodimus. 

“Just… just open the door.” Rodimus demanded, placing a paw on said door determinedly. “I don’t want anyone else to see me like this, Skids.” 

“Uh huh.” Skids nodded. “I can imagine.” 

“Look, mech, it’s really not funny.” Rodimus turned to face him, frowning. “I’m a fragging mechanimal. Please just open this door. I can’t do it myself.” 

“I will, I will.” Skids said, and now he wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was grinning. His field erupted with amusement and he crouched down again. “What was that number again? I forgot.” 

Making a noise of disgust, Rodimus rolled his optics. “74298.” 

“Are you sure that’s what you said? It wasn’t 289?” Skids asked. 

“Skids.” Rodimus whined, claws scraping across the floor as he stood up again. 

“Okay okay.” Standing, Skids approached the panel. He paused, then looked down at Rodimus with wide optics. “Sorry, the number? One more time.” 

“I refuse to believe your memory is that bad, I just gave it to you!” Rodimus said. If he wasn’t so grateful that Skids had saved him from his hab suite, he’d maul the theoretician’s leg. “74298. 74298!”

“Ah yes. 7. 4. 2.” 

“Skids! Someone is coming, hurry up!” Rodimus could hear footsteps rapidly approaching and made an attempt to hide behind Skids, who stopped what he was doing to turn around. “Open the door!” 

It was too late. Rodimus watched as Nautica barrelled around the corner, her optics lighting up upon seeing them. 

Skids looked unapologetic as Nautica gasped and hurried over. Rodimus cursed and turned to the door, pawing at it frantically.

To his ever increasing horror, Rodimus suddenly found himself clutched and pulled against Nautica’s chest as she plunked herself down on the floor for an impromptu cuddle. “I got here as fast as I could! Sorry if I kept you waiting! I was delivering some things to Brainstorm and Perceptor.” 

Rodimus blinked when Nautica dug her fingers into the seams of his neck, just behind his audio receptors. It made him feel strangely strutless, and he tried his best to wriggle away. 

“Nah, it’s alright.” Skids said, also sitting down outside the door. 

“See, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Nautica soothed, running her hand all the way along Rodimus’ back strut and tail. “I bet all you wanted was a little attention!” 

“Just want… to go in the office.” Rodimus protested, his words strangely warbled. Was he _purring_? “As… as nice as this is, Nautica, I really need to go in the office.” 

“Okay.” Nautica got up, still holding onto him, and carried him into the office once Skids helpfully keyed in the code to open the door. “Do you think Ultra Magnus minds us being in here?”

“No.” Rodimus began wriggling again. It was much easier to process when she wasn’t petting him. “Now, Skids, could you please tell the commander you need to see him in his office immediately? Make it sound dire.” 

Skids seated himself at the desk while he spoke to the SIC, and Nautica sat on the floor in the middle of the room to resume her petting. “Skids told me you had a change of heart.” She said happily. 

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.” Rodimus said in reply. It was disconcertingly relaxing and he was starting to feel tired again. 

“Ultra Magnus says he’s busy and we’ll have to wait.” Skids said, glancing at Rodimus. “Apparently you just ordered a course change and he has to ‘deal with it.’”

 

As per usual, Rodimus and Magnus had been fighting before the captain had left the command deck. It had been petty… they usually were when the topic of Megatron was invoked, and despite Ultra Magnus being in the right (as per usual,) Rodimus had declared fatigue and stormed off. 

That’s why Magnus was surprised when the captain came back so soon. He strode back onto the command deck like he owned it (which he technically did,) a predatory grace in the way he moved. He didn’t so much sit as drape himself into his ‘throne,’ and his ego seemed to have been dialed up to 11. 

Ultra Magnus stared at him suspiciously, and Rodimus stared right back. “Finished your nap, sir?” Magnus asked, blinking his optics first much to Rodimus’ obvious pleasure.

“I got bored.” He said with a smirk, and Magnus pulled his field back so the captain didn’t feel the flash of irritation that moved through it.

Rodimus was feeling awfully proud of himself about something. Ultra Magnus didn’t want to even think about why. 

“Where are we going?” Rodimus asked, and Ultra Magnus glanced at him with a frown. “What’s our heading, I mean?” 

“Whatever heading you last instructed us to take, Rodimus.” He said in response. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I like this one.” Rodimus got up and moved to the command console, looking at it with interest. “I have a different one we should use.” 

This behavior wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for the fickle captain, and sometimes Ultra Magnus wished that he was in charge of where they were going and what they were going to do when they got there so at least there would be a sense of continuity. Rodimus did occasionally ask for his advice on certain courses of action, but more often than not it was Rodimus’ way or the highway. 

“You insisted we remain on this course just an hour ago, Rodimus.” Ultra Magnus said, trying to avoid scraping his hand down his face plates. “Something about not wanting to have your time wasted with detours?” 

“Well, I changed my mind.” Rodimus said dismissively. “I think a detour is exactly what we need. Take a bit of a break to clear our heads.” 

It came down to another argument, albeit a shorter one that left Ultra Magnus little room to negotiate. The heading that Rodimus wanted to change to was leading them in the completely wrong direction, but the captain insisted it was where he wanted to go. 

“Megatron needs to sign off on this..” Ultra Magnus said dryly. Rodimus rolled his optics, making a noise of disgust and folding his arms across his chest like a child. 

“Like he’ll care. He’s not in a terrible hurry to arrive at our final destination, if you hadn’t noticed, Magnus.” Rodimus said dramatically, Ultra Magnus unable to deny that Rodimus was at least right about that. 

“It doesn’t matter what we assume he will say, he is the captain-”

“Co-captain!”

“-and if he says we aren’t going to detour, then he and I will be in agreement and we will not be detouring!” Ultra Magnus said, activating his comm before Rodimus could protest further. “Captain, your presence is requested on the command deck immediately. There are important matters Rodimus and I need to discuss with you.” 

“And you need me there to discuss them?” Megatron’s voice sounded annoyed. Ultra Magnus understood the sentiment.

“No. I’m trying to order a course correction but Ultra Magnus is being, ugh, _Magnus_ about it.” Rodimus said loudly. “I’m feeling deeply nostalgic and I want to go back to Earth.” 

“We don’t have the fuel for that.” Megatron said, his voice so flat it could’ve been used as a writing surface. Ultra Magnus couldn’t help but feel a sense of justification in his denial of Rodimus’ proposed course. 

“They can refuel us there, they’re not strangers to Cybertronian craft and have the means to do so.” Rodimus argued, Ultra Magnus cursing inwardly. 

“Nostalgia is a poor excuse to take us so far off course.”

“Think of all the poetry books you could buy yourself. And think of the crew! They could use a break, right?”

“I honestly don’t care.” Megatron sounded resigned and in absolutely no mood to argue. “The crew seems perfectly fine, morale seems to be doing better than it has been in the past-”

“Fine then, we’ll just motor on ahead. I’ll go talk to Perceptor, maybe he can make the engines go faster so we can get on with it and get rid of you.” Rodimus interrupted.

There was a long silence but Magnus, optics closed and trying to pretend he wasn’t currently on the command deck, could still hear Megatron’s venting on the other end of the comm, proving that the ex-Decepticon hadn’t simply hung up. 

“Very well, Rodimus.” Megatron said after a moment. “Whatever you feel is necessary.” 

Rodimus smiled triumphantly at Ultra Magnus, reaching out to pat his chest. “Great. See to it that gets done, Magnus. I’m going to go get a drink.” 

“Sir?” 

“I’m dismissing myself! Captain leaving the command deck!” Rodimus slid out the door, waving merrily over one shoulder, and Ultra Magnus was left staring at his retreating back. 

“Megatron, sir, do you really think this is a wise thing to do?” Ultra Magnus asked quietly, seeing as the comm was still open. When there was no response, Magnus frowned. “Sir?” 

 

Paperwork was tedious enough, especially when Rodimus refused to do his share. Megatron had more data pads to read and sign off on than ever, his desktop completely covered by them. Generally, he was a masterful multitasker, but tonight found himself being distracted by unexpected company. 

Tailgate had come in to speak to him, the mini bot waiting patiently on the other side of his desk and being so dwarfed by it that all Megatron could see was the top of his helm. “I wanted to ask you about something, sir.” Tailgate said, Megatron holding up a hand to silence him as his comm buzzed. 

“One moment, please.” The ex-Decepticon said quietly. 

The entire time he fielded the call from Ultra Magnus and Rodimus, Megatron watched as Tailgate tried valiantly to see over the top of the desk. He was standing on the very tips of his pedes, little hands clutching at the edge of the desk and optics bright behind his visor. 

He was practically bouncing with eagerness, and Megatron hoped he would be able to wait for the call to finish and for the captains and Ultra Magnus to finish their conversation before the unpredictable little bot spontaneously combusted.

Listening to Rodimus’ flippant and petty chatter always set his denta on edge, and Megatron worried he was clenching his jaw too tightly when a wave of vertigo washed over him. He tightly shut his optics, waiting for it to pass. He could dimly hear Ultra Magnus calling to him on the other end of the comm, the sound curiously muffled. Beneath his fingers, he felt rather than heard a resonating groan, and when he opened his optics again, he found himself gazing upwards… at himself.

Wide, terrified, confused optics peered down at him, one of the hands that had been clutching the desk lifting to press against lips that were parted in shock. The shock only deepened when the fingers encountered said lips, and Megatron heard his own voice issue a rather uncharacteristic squeak. 

“Captain?” Ultra Magnus’ tone was sharp over the comm, and Megatron could only watch as the line was unceremoniously cut without another word uttered. 

Office chair scraping back loudly, Megatron’s frame got to its feet. 

He should have been more surprised. He really should have, but this was the Lost Light and as such the only thing he could concentrate on was the utter need to keep his head on straight and sort this out. 

“Don’t panic.” He demanded, and immediately felt like a fool. Primus, Tailgate’s voice was so small. “Whatever you do, Tailgate, do not panic.” 

“I-I’m not panicking!” Megatron saw his frame’s optics grow so bright, they started throwing sparks. “This wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

“I know.” Megatron tried to be reassuring. He was having difficulty reining in his EM field, and his spark seemed to be spinning distressingly quick. His self diagnostic, strangely enough, told him he was an idiot when he tried to run it, so he had no idea if this was just how Tailgate’s frame worked, or if there was something wrong with him.

Tailgate danced from foot to foot, both hands pressed to his mouth now and optics still sparking. 

“You just need to keep calm while I figure this out.” Megatron said. “I know where the Commander is, I’m going to go speak to him.” 

“W-what should I do?” Tailgate asked, lowering his hands slightly. 

“Wait here, please.” Megatron turned to the door, praying that Tailgate would actually do as requested. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “By the way, what was it you wanted to ask me about?”

Tailgate let his arms drop to his sides, opening his mouth to speak. He closed it again, looking a little confused, then he twisted his fingers together and looked away. 

“I uh… I forgot.” He said, offering Megatron a helpless shrug. He moved to the door, Megatron holding up his very small hands to try and stop him. “I gotta go talk to Cyclonus.” 

“It’s best if you don’t, Tailgate, please just stay here until I’ve had a chance to-” Megatron protested, but Tailgate was brushing past him and knocking him over just from his sheer size and Megatron’s stubborn refusal to move out of the way. “Tailgate!” 

“Sorry! I gotta go! I really need to talk to Cyclonus!” Tailgate said in earnest, hurrying out of the room and up the hallway with large, eager steps. 

The difference in size between them was rather clear. Even if Megatron had tried very hard, there would be no way to stop Tailgate. Not even the Fool’s Energon they forced the warlord to consume made him feel this incredibly weak. 

 

It always amused Brainstorm when Perceptor got so annoyed he started using organic slang. Currently, the microscope was laying on his back on the floor and was practically screaming human profanity as he mashed his hands over his face in frustration. Brainstorm was laughing, which just seemed to spur him on. 

It was a struggle for Perceptor to sit up, but once he managed it Brainstorm moved quickly to help him the rest of the way out of fear of having debris thrown at him again. 

“We’re running out of materials.” He said, Perceptor glaring at him balefully. “I figure we have enough for another try before we have to ask for more.” 

“Shifting the polarization didn’t have any effect. Rerouting the power through a secondary source did nothing! Your suggestion to use better quality materials and then adding the prefix ‘quantum’ while describing all of your actions as you took them was similarly useless so now we are out of options!” Perceptor spat, shoving him away as soon as he was standing again. 

“Not completely. May I make a suggestion?” Brainstorm asked, Perceptor giving him a dirty look. 

“Is it as stupid as your last one?” He said, and Brainstorm gave him a sheepish grin. 

“You’re probably going to hate it, but we’ve reached a real point of desperation, Perceptor. So! Let’s flex our t-cogs.” He said cheerfully, Perceptor staring at him like he had grown an extra head. “Or we could try it upside down?” 

 

Rodimus Prime had his problems, his quirks, but there was no denying that he could command a room just by walking into it. The mech had charisma. 

Every optic in the bar that night turned to stare when Rodimus came in. There was something about him, a sway in his hips and a curve to his smile that added to the illusion of a mech very much in charge of himself. 

After glancing around, Rodimus barely hesitated before approaching the counter. He leaned against it, smile broadening, and the curve of his back, the way he lifted his hips just drew more attention to his brightly colored frame. 

“Hey Bluestreak.” Rodimus said, hand on his chin and elbow on the bar top. “How about some mid-grade?” 

“Sure thing, sir.” Bluestreak returned his smile, rooting around under the counter for a moment before producing what had been requested. “You’re off shift but you’re drinking mid-grade? You must be taking it easy tonight or something. We’ve got a great special on... you sure I can’t tempt you?”

Rodimus made a strange noise at that, something akin to a purr, and Bluestreak blinked at him as he handed over a full glass. “I think I’ll stick to the mid grade, but you’re still free to tempt me..” Without breaking optic contact, Rodimus lifted the glass. He seemed to hesitate slightly, then took a mouthful and swallowed carefully. 

Bluestreak swallowed dryly and quickly looked away.“That’s just fine. So, anything interesting going on? I haven’t really had a chance to chat with you lately about all the latest gossip from up on the command deck but I heard that there’s a chance that the quest might take a-” He said, changing the topic., Rodimus’ cheerful expression hardened for a split second before the captain reached over and put his hand on the gunner’s shoulder. 

“Yes, that’s just great, Blue.” He said, straightening. “Look, why don’t we go somewhere and chat? Somewhere more private?” 

“Oh, uh, that’d be nice, sir, but I’m on duty.” Bluestreak gestured around the bar at the other patrons, some of whom were waiting to be served. 

There was a flicker of irritation in Rodimus’ field, but it was covered up quickly and the captain smiled again. “Well, when are you off shift? We could always do something after.” 

“Yes, that might be cool, sir. We could hang out! Talk about the old days or something.” Bluestreak nodded at him.

“Great.” Rodimus picked up his glass, walking backwards away from the counter. Bluestreak found his optics being drawn to the long, lean lines of the captain’s frame, and he gave him a rather goofy grin before offering an awkward wave. 

Rodimus proceeded to drape himself in a chair at an empty table. Said table didn’t stay empty for long, mechs flocking over to join the captain in friendly conversation. Even more now, Rodimus looked like he was in his element. 

 

Cyclonus had taken one look at him and shut the door in his face. 

“Cyclonus.” Leaning his head against the door, Tailgate slapped his hand against the solid, unyielding metal. “Please, Cyclonus, let me in. This is my room.” 

There was no sound from the other side, and Tailgate felt his lower lip wobble. This wasn’t fair… it didn’t matter what he looked like, he was still Tailgate. He thought that maybe his roommate would think this was fun, that they could get up to some trouble or something at Megatron’s expense. This was the sort of situation that called for hijinks. 

But Cyclonus had taken one look at him, turned around, and apparently changed the door code because Tailgate was thoroughly locked out.

This wasn’t fair! He lived in there! All his things were in there!

“Cyclonus, please! I’m hungry, can’t I come in? I need to sleep at some point!” Tailgate said. He drew himself up to his full height and glared at the door. “Cyclonus, open this door right now!” 

Okay, that was scary. Megatron’s voice was big, and deep, and very powerful. It echoed off the door and around the hallway, and Tailgate let out a squeak when his armor suddenly flared in response. 

There was still no response, and he honestly was very hungry, so Tailgate took a few steps away from the door. “Fine then, you big meanie!” He called. “I didn’t want to go in there anyway! I’m going to the bar! I’m going to get a drink! If you change your mind, that’s where I’ll be, Cyclonus!”

His trip to the bar was surprisingly fast and unnervingly loud, thanks in part of Megatron’s much longer legs. The bar also seemed strangely subdued, people giving him nervous looks when he entered. Rodimus seemed to be surrounded by people at a table in the middle of the room. 

Tailgate started towards the captain to say hello, but when the others started to get up to leave, he moved to the counter instead. 

“Captain.” Bluestreak straightened up, door wings held high, and he smiled in a cautious but friendly manner. “Your usual?” 

“Yes, thank you!” Tailgate said brightly. It was weird, being called captain, but he sort of liked it.

“You seem to be in an awfully good mood tonight, sir.” Bluestreak said as he took something out from behind the counter, something that was kept in a key coded lock box. He poured it into a glass and handed it over, Tailgate immediately reaching for a curly straw to stick in it.

Whatever it was, it glowed faintly and was a rather poisonous green color. It didn’t smell very good, but Tailgate was honestly too hungry to care. “Is there any reason not to be in a good mood?” He asked as he took a sip. 

Bluestreak was doing his best not to laugh, so Tailgate figured the expression on his face must have been something to behold. The other mech’s field was full of confusion, too. 

“This… this is really awful.” Tailgate was trying to be polite, and Bluestreak just made an apologetic sound and shrugged one shoulder. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

His fuel levels were going up, but there were warnings popping up on his HUD. Tailgate didn’t get a very good look at them before his processor auto cleared them. 

“I wish I could add something to make it taste better, but rules are rules.” Bluestreak didn’t sound like he was very sorry. 

“This is going to make me cry, Blue.” Tailgate sighed, leaning an elbow on the counter and sticking the straw back in his mouth. Right. Mouth. He couldn’t help touching his mouth with curious fingers, poking at his fanged denta and his glossa that was coated with the taste of this terrible drink. 

Bluestreak was staring at him with wide optics, silent. The cloth he held that he had been using to dry a glass was still, and his door wings trembled. 

“Sorry, it’s making my mouth feel weird.” Tailgate said, trying to sound as gruff as he possibly could. That made Bluestreak’s door wings droop and the gunner offered him a wobbly smile before nodding and turning away. 

Tailgate couldn’t help it if he couldn’t act like Megatron! He was pretty much the polar opposite of Megatron! He couldn’t stomach terrible drinks like this, he didn’t want to sit alone like this and he certainly didn’t want people to look at him the way they were. He wanted to dance, to socialize! He wanted his fizzy blue thing that Swerve had invented just for him.

“Hey Bluestreak, I’m the captain, right?” He asked, Blue looking at him and twitching door wings curiously. “So you have to do what I tell you to do?”

“Uh… yes, I suppose that’s correct.” Bluestreak said, arching a brow.

“So if I told you to give me something other than this awful drink you’ve handed me, you’d have to do it?” Tailgate took the curly straw and stirred it around in the bright green liquid in his cup.

“I wish that were the case, sir, but I can’t do that. We were given very strict rules regarding your refueling and what to give you, so even if you did order me to give you something else, I couldn’t.” Bluestreak said, scrunching his cleaning cloth in his hands. 

Tailgate pouted, making the bartender look slightly alarmed. He jabbed the straw in his awful energon and then lifted the cup to drain it. Better to just get it over with, after all. “That’s a stupid rule.” He sighed when he was finished, flicking at the cup with a finger. 

Bluestreak held up both hands in a gesture of apology and turned away, Tailgate hearing the buzz of a private comm booting up as the Praxian moved to the opposite end of the counter. It appeared that Bluestreak was calling for help because after a few moments the doors of the bar opened and Swerve strode in. He made his way directly over to the counter, glancing up at Tailgate as he passed him. 

He and Bluestreak had a brief conference in the corner, then Swerve nodded decisively and looked straight at Tailgate, putting on a big Swerve smile. 

“Hey there Megs! I hear you’ve got a complaint about your drink?” He said, Tailgate straightening on his stool. He was getting the oddest urge to pick Swerve up. He was just so… little! Tailgate was beginning to understand why everyone manhandled the mini bots all the time.

“It’s just awful.” Tailgate said, twisting his fingers together. “I don’t like complaining about the drinks here ‘cause usually they’re fine, but this one is really awful and Bluestreak keeps telling me I can’t have something else.” 

Swerve just observed him for a moment, a grin on his face and his head tilted slightly to the side. “Yeah, sorry about that, it’s policy and all.”

Tailgate pouted again, and Swerve’s grin almost became shrewd. “Hey, how about this: I’ll think about changing your drink--” He waved off Bluestreak, who was looking alarmed in the background, “--And we take a selfie. Something fun.”?” He was smiling even wider now and showing a lot of denta. 

A selfie? With Megatron? Tailgate’s optics widened, then narrowed. Swerve seemed to pick up on his thoughts and nodded, making the former mini-bot join in with the manic grinning. So what if Cyclonus had turned down an evening of adventure and getting into trouble at Megatron’s expense? He’d just do it with Swerve instead!

“Absolutely. You can even sit on my shoulders. We’ll pose!” He chirped, knocking over his stool when he stood up.

Swerve looked over at Bluestreak, who was holding his door wings high and gaping with an open mouth, and he gave the mech a thumbs up. “Get in on the action while you can, Bluestreak!” He said with a laugh.

 

Ultra Magnus was still puzzling over the very abrupt end to his conversation with Megatron when a vocalizer reset behind him. He recognized said vocalizer and turned with a frown, gazing down at Tailgate. 

The mini wasn’t normally so presumptuous, nor did he wear such a bland expression on his face plates when he was talking to Ultra Magnus. “We need to talk. In private, please.” 

For a moment, Ultra Magnus feared his audio receptors were malfunctioning, because it seemed that Tailgate was speaking with a Tarnian accent.

“... I’m not sure I have the time to humor you, Tailgate.” He said as politely as possible, not wanting to hurt the mini bot’s tiny but very strong feelings. 

“I understand the course correction likely has you concerned or even stumped, Ultra Magnus, but this is incredibly important and needs to be immediately addressed.” Yes, that was definitely a Tarnian accent. Was Tailgate trying to imitate Megatron? Not only was that incredibly odd, it was surprisingly accurate. “Can we meet in your office, please?” 

“Of course.” Ultra Magnus said. He needed to get to the bottom of this. The crew was acting out of sorts today. “Hound, could you please man the crew deck until I get back?” 

“Yessir. No problem.” Hound said from across the room, giving him a bit of a salute. 

Ultra Magnus nodded and gestured to Tailgate, the mini bot setting the pace for their travels. It was easier than walking ahead and leaving him to try and catch up with his much shorter legs. Tailgate glanced over his shoulder and up at Ultra Magnus, frowning slightly. The commander’s comm pinged and he arched a brow when he saw Tailgate’s signature attached. 

:: You’re right there, why are you comming me? :: He asked, folding his hands behind his back.

:: First of all, I’m not Tailgate. Second of all, I’m sorry our conversation was cut short earlier and that I didn’t have a better argument against Rodimus’ particular brand of stupidity. :: Tailgate glanced at him again and Ultra Magnus stopped short. :: Thirdly, when is the last time you spoke to Brainstorm? I can’t help but wonder if this is all his fault. :: 

The authoritative glyphs, the scowling, the Tarnian accent… it was all adding up to a terrible conclusion in Ultra Magnus’ processor. Not to mention, when he looked at the mini bot, he was now getting all sorts of curious errors regarding Tailgate’s status. 

:: That seems likely. :: Ultra Magnus managed to say, realizing that Tailgate hadn’t stopped walking and he would have to catch up. 

The office door was unlocked when they arrived, immediately putting Ultra Magnus on guard. He never left it unlocked purposely, so someone must have broken in. “Let me go first.” He rumbled to his small companion, reaching out to open the door.

The office seemed to be empty, and Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. This had the scent of Rodimus all over it… 

Tailgate didn’t wait for him to invite him in, he entered and shut the door behind him. “I’m still wondering why we didn’t just imprison Brainstorm when we had the chance.” 

The dark muttering seemed very out of place coming from Tailgate’s mouth. Ultra Magnus turned to look down at the mini bot and ex-vented. “Are you sure this is Brainstorm’s doing?” He asked. 

“Can you think of anyone else aboard who has the capability of causing two mechs to switch frames?” Tailgate said, raising a brow. 

“I tend not to make assumptions.” Ultra Magnus said honestly. 

“Of course.” Tailgate’s expression shifted and he tried to draw himself up a little taller. “Then as the captain, I feel comfortable leaving the task of solving this to you.”

So it was actually Megatron. Ultra Magnus stared stoically at him, both mechs jolting when they heard a muffled laugh from under Magnus’ desk.

“Wow, and I thought I had it bad.” A voice said, then Ravage crawled out from under the desk and approached them on trembling legs. “It’s a good look on you, Megs! How’re you gonna get anyone to take you seriously when you’re as threatening as a marshmallow?” 

“Rodimus?” Megatron asked with optics wide behind his visor. 

“This is Rodimus?” Ultra Magnus asked, an unsettling conclusion solidifying in his processor. 

“Well, it certainly isn’t Ravage.” Megatron growled, and it was predictably adorable. “You mean to tell me that there are more of us? More people whose frames have been switched?” 

“Frames, sparks, something.” Rodimus said grumpily, twitching his tail. “I’ve been waiting forever, Magnus, what kept you?”

“You ordered a course change. We’re headed for Earth. Something I will immediately put a stop to since the order wasn’t given by either of the captains.” Ultra Magnus’ armor was bristling like an owl that had been squirted with a water bottle. 

“Wait, you thought that was really me?” Rodimus sounded hurt. “How could you, Magnus?” 

“Well, there wasn’t anything in your demeanor that gave me any reason to doubt it was you!” Ultra Magnus said indignantly. “How did this even happen?!”

“I dunno. One second, I was laying in bed, the next I was under it.” Rodimus’ hackles rose, then he shook himself. “This hasn’t been easy. I had Skids and Nautica helping me, but I sent one to find my body and the other to find Perceptor and demand for him to fix it.” 

“Which one of you broke into my office?” Ultra Magnus demanded.

“It was me. I used my own override.” Rodimus said immediately, but the twitch of his audio receptors and tail gave away that he was lying. “And we called you! Said it was important!” 

“Skids failed to give me a good enough reason to abandon my post.” Ultra Magnus said, gazing down at the two much smaller mechs and frowning. “Even as far as the _Lost Light_ is concerned, this is unusual.” 

“Y’think?” Rodimus snorted, circling around Megatron with his tail flicking. 

“Where is Ravage now?” Megatron asked, Ultra Magnus making a sound of agreement. 

“Dunno. That’s why I sent Skids to find him before he has all sorts of nasty things done to my frame.” Rodimus shuddered. “For a mech who doesn’t like being seen, he sure took to a flashy body really well.” 

“He’s probably trying to make you look more like a fool than you normally do.” Megatron said dryly, and Rodimus began giggling. 

“Seriously, I can’t handle it. You’re trying to sound so tough and you’re just too cute to pull it off.” Rodimus said, shaking his head. 

“Another reason for us to fix this as soon as we possibly can!” Megatron growled, Rodimus only giggling more. 

 

There was a sudden and very clear understanding of the phrase ‘hair trigger’ in his processor. He just didn’t understand why there were so many guns! Guns everywhere! And no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the bullets that kept coming out of them!

Even remaining very still did nothing seeing as flares of emotion just seemed to make the guns fire faster! 

Oh Primus, why were there so many guns?!

 

All of the mechs who had left the bar when ‘Megatron’ entered were eventually coaxed back by the friends who had stayed. Swerve had a few of them pull a table that had been against the wall out of the way and Atomizer had helpfully draped some spare mesh he had across it to make a pseudo backdrop.

PROJECT: SELFIE was now in full swing. If this kept up, he’d be able to fill a wall full of pictures and there was no regulation against displaying them so Megatron couldn’t order him to take them down!

“Who’s next?” Swerve called, holding up his cellphone. “You up for a few more, TG?” 

“Am I ever.” It was incredibly unnerving to hear Megatron giggle hysterically. That deep voice of his sounded evil no matter what he was doing, after all. “Oh, if only Cyclonus were here.” 

“You could always comm him, doing your best Megatron impression, and order him here?” Swerve suggested, waiting until Jackpot and Mainframe were finished getting into position on either side of Megatron’s massive frame and snapping another picture. 

“Hey, can I order drinks for everyone and put them on my tab?” Tailgate asked with wide optics, Swerve snickering with a nod. 

“Sure, sure. Hey guys! Drinks on our captain! Get your orders in!” He shouted, cupping his hands around his wide mouth. “Jackpot, man my camera. Take some lucky shots.” 

“Yes.” Jackpot hissed drunkenly, taking the cell phone from Swerve and gesturing for more people to come over. 

 

Ultra Magnus stood outside the door to Rung’s office with a frown. He had received word that Whirl had locked himself inside and was shooting at anyone and anything that moved, so naturally he had come as quickly as he could to investigate. 

Leaning closer to the door, which was normally soundproofed but currently had several large holes in it, the commander turned up the sensitivity on his audio receptors. 

From inside, there was a whimper. It confirmed his suspicions as soundly as written proof would have. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“Is… is someone there?” Whirl called from inside, his voice wavering. “Please, do not come in here! I do not wish to harm you!” The words were punctuated by a yelp and the blast of weapon fire hitting the wall within, Ultra Magnus stepping back and ex-venting shortly. 

He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking over his shoulder at the handful of chosen enforcers who had accompanied him. 

“Someone go and find Rung. Immediately.” He said. The sinking feeling in his stomach seemed to have hit rock bottom. How could this situation possibly get any worse?

Turning on his heel, Ultra Magnus headed for the labs. This was going to get sorted out right now. 

 

 

Surprisingly, Ravage hadn’t much joined in the festivities. He had monopolized a great deal of the attention in the bar for some time, his charming smile and magnetic personality drawing flocks of mechs to his table. Now, however, he seemed both bored and irritable as he watched the silliness of the photo ops. 

“You should go get one of him carrying you like a damsel in distress.” Skids suggested, grinning at Ravage almost too knowingly. The mech arched a brow at him and said nothing, turning his attention back to where Bluestreak was posing for another photo with Megatron. 

“So, how exactly did you end up switching bodies?” Bluestreak asked, and Ravage sat up a little straighter, his optics widening. 

“I dunno.” Megatron shrugged. “I also really hope it’s not y’know… permanent. Cause that would make things really awkward. Cyclonus won’t let me into our room.” 

“I’d sure hate to have to level all my anger and hate at your frame just because someone else was living inside it.” Bluestreak said, Megatron nodding at him enthusiastically in reply. “Do you feel really dizzy sometimes cause this body is so much taller than your other one? I bet you get to places a lot faster though cause your legs are longer! I’m really sorry about the terrible energon, but I don’t think we can just give you other stuff cause what would happen if you did end up switching back suddenly? Megatron would be too strong!”

“It’s… it’s alright.” Megatron held his hands up and let out a soft laugh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. That’s the way the _Lost Light_ works, right? For the most part?” 

Bluestreak just gave Megatron a reassuring pat.

Narrowing his optics, Ravage realized now why Swerve had kept referring to the captain as ‘TG.’ It seemed that he and Rodimus weren’t the only ones who had suffered the whole frame switching thing. 

Getting to his feet, Ravage slowly smiled. “Actually, I changed my mind Skids. I’ve got a great idea for a photo op.” He said, striding towards Megatron. 

The former warlord’s face wore an expression of eagerness that made Ravage’s protoflesh crawl. He opened his mouth to speak, but cut himself short with a high pitched noise of curiosity when Ravage reached out and looped an arm around his waist. Pulling the gun metal grey frame against his borrowed and very bright one, Ravage leaned up on his toes. 

“Don’t take this personally.” He whispered, Megatron’s optics widening. 

The moment was made all the more comical by the squeak that escaped Megatron as Ravage tipped him backwards despite their size difference. Any further protest that might have been uttered was silenced when Ravage planted a firm kiss on Megatron’s lip plates.

 

 

**Ultra Magnus’ Personal Log  
** 22:50  
RE: The Incident 

_This report is in regards to ‘The Incident,’ which affected an estimated two and a half dozen members of the crew before it was resolved. The Incident resulted in three arrests._

_Perceptor and Brainstorm, the two individuals responsible for The Incident itself are charged with improper scientific experimentation, improper use of lab supplies and tools, and a slew of other misdemeanors that should have seen both individuals spending a lot more time in the brig than they actually did. It was with great misgivings that I, Ultra Magnus, acquiesced to the whims of our (co) captain, Rodimus Prime, and released the perpetrators into the custody and supervision of the other science officers aboard the Lost Light. Let it be noted that ‘they probably didn’t mean to do it’ is not a valid reason for cutting short a well deserved prison sentence._

_The third arrest was that of Whirl, who will be spending a long, long, long time in the brig on account of the crimes committed while he was inexplicably wearing Rung’s frame. These include but are not limited to assault, indecent transformation, harassment, attempted murder and a slew of other things I feel uncomfortable writing down in this report but will include in the arrest sheet that will be attached._

_I was unable to convince the (co) captain to arrest Ravage as well for A) being a Decepticon, B) being a stowaway and C) impersonating an officer. Let it be known that the excuse ‘even you thought he was me’ is flimsy at best. Rodimus’ argument that I would also have to imprison Tailgate for impersonating an officer was a stronger one, however and I found it best just to drop the charges against Ravage in the ‘spirit of fairness.’_

_I am unsure how long it will take to make reparations to Rung’s practice or if it is even possible to do so at this point. I hope that Rung will still be able to help Tailgate work through the damage caused by certain happenings near the end of The Incident, and seeing as Tailgate was absent for most of the crimes committed by Rung’s frame while it was in the possession of Whirl, those hopes are high._

_I have put in a request to have Cyclonus compensated for the wounds he suffered during The Incident but am pleased to note that he has been released from the medical bay and will make a full recovery._

_I have found absolutely no laws broken by the demeaning ‘Selfie Wall,’ and as such it will remain an eyesore on the far side of Swerve’s for the foreseeable future. Rodimus has, however, insisted that one picture be removed and that anyone mentioning the contents of said picture will be thrown off the ship without mercy. Megatron has been unnervingly quiet on the subject._

_(Co) Captain Rodimus declined my suggestion to correct our course and put us back on track for our quest. As a result, the Lost Light continues on its way towards Earth. While it would be nice to see old friends and to visit the familiar places on my home away from home, I cannot welcome the diversion. This quest is vital to the continuation of our species and we have no time for vacations._

_As always, I hope that this is the last time I am forced to write such a report, but life on the Lost Light goes on._

**TIC Ultra Magnus  
Signing Off**

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr!
> 
> http://drazyrohk.tumblr.com/
> 
> I mostly post pictures of cats and food and Transformers. 
> 
> Lemme know if you have a request or a prompt! I'm terribly shy, but feel free to message me!


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